


let it come down crashing.

by Anonymous



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Fingering, Awkward Conversations, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Porn with Feelings, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Prostate Milking, i took some liberties and made it better muschietti owes me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24447355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jesus Christ, Richie was going todie. He was going to die right there on his couch while his drunk best friend tried to find his own p-spot and cursed God.- or -Eddie drunk dials Richie.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 35
Kudos: 481
Collections: Anonymous





	let it come down crashing.

**Author's Note:**

> trying to get back into writing after a little break. thank you t for giving me the idea and letting me run with, hope i did you proud.  
> additional warnings/tags: drinking, brief mention of eddie/omc (not talked about in depth)  
> 

Richie wished he could say the phone call woke him up, but if he was being honest with himself (which he was these days, thank you), sleep didn’t come as easily as it used to.

No, instead he was messing around on his laptop, staring at but not really seeing the too-bright screen, sprawled across his couch in a position that he’d undoubtedly be feeling in the morning, when his cell phone buzzed to life on the table next to him. Richie jumped, trying in vain to grab the device before it started ringing shrilly, too loud in the eerie, early morning quiet of his home.

Richie blinked at the screen, then smiled when he saw Eddie’s face lighting it up.

The clock read 2:52 AM. He frowned.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime, little guy?” Richie opted for instead of his usual cheerful greeting. Eddie Kaspbrak was a lot of good things, but spontaneous wasn’t one of them. He didn’t just _call_ out of nowhere on a—Richie checked his phone again—late Tuesday night/early Wednesday morning especially when Richie knew he liked to be up at six o clock sharp so he could workout before work. 

Richie’s heart rate sped up as his mind nearly over-extended itself from the effort it took to jump from worst case scenario, to worst case scenario, to _oh god how does this keep getting worse_ case scenario.

Eddie being sick, Eddie being hurt, Eddie being dead in a ditch somewhere and the police finding his phone and using it to call Richie, who’s listed as Eddie’s emergency contact, to have him identify Eddie’s body.

His worries were only slightly eased when he heard Eddie sniffle miserably on the other end of the line.

“Rich, it’s not here, I can’t find it,” Eddie said—no, slurred. There was rustling on Eddie’s end and a frustrated sigh before he said, dejected, “It’s gone, Richie. It’s really not here.” 

Richie breathed a sigh of relief. Eddie was okay, he was _safe_ —just drunk, but Richie could work with that.

He was silent for a second while he wracked his brain, trying to think of what Eddie could’ve lost that was important enough for him to call Richie about at three in the morning, but ended up shrugging it off. Clearly Eddie had a few too many, and Richie himself had done a lot worse things under the influence of alcohol.

“Okay, how can I help? What’d you lose?” He indulged, and Eddie made another impatient sound. 

“You have to promise not to laugh at me.”

“I—" Richie cleared his throat, and considered his next words carefully. “I promise I’ll _try_ not to laugh at you.” he obliged.

Eddie was either too drunk to notice his amendment or just didn’t care because he took a deep breath in, and on the exhale said in a rush, “Idon’tthinkIhaveaprostate.”

Richie blinked. He’s heard stories, before, about how sleep deprivation could lead to visual and auditory hallucinations. Clearly his sleep schedule, or moreso his absence of one, has been affecting Richie more than he’d previously thought, because there’s absolutely no way Eddie just said—

“Hellooo, earth to Richie, did you not hear me? I _said_ there’s something wrong with me man. I don’t have a fucking prostate.” He paraphrased, as if those words would make sense in any order they came out of his mouth.

Richie tried to stifle the laughter, he really did, but the startled, shocked peals bubbled out of him despite his efforts. “Oh man, there is _definitely_ something wrong with you, Eds, it’s called being a fucking lightweight. Maybe you should call it a night, champ.”

“Don’t call me champ.” Eddie said absently, then, “I mean don’t call me Eds.” Richie snorted. “I think that...no, listen...I think that God might’ve messed up when he made me.” His voice wobbled in a way that Richie knew had nothing to do with the alcohol, and that was enough to shut him up.

They didn’t—it wasn’t something they talked about a lot. Mostly because Richie tended to approach the subject of religion with tact and grace on par with a bull in a china shop. Eddie had his hang ups, Richie knew, has had them ever since they were kids, and he never wanted to come off as taking the subject too lightly, as being unsupportive, just because he couldn’t sympathize with Eddie.

“I think he made you just perfect, Eds.” Richie said, voice soft, _fond_ , open in a way he probably wouldn’t let himself be if Eddie hadn’t been at least two and a half sheets to the wind.

Eddie only made a vague noise of disagreement. “Obviously fucking not. How do you forget a prostate, huh? How does that happen?”

He was such an idiot. Richie laughed again. “Oh my— _Eddie,_ listen to me. I promise you, you have a prostate, man. You literally wouldn’t be able to come if you didn’t.”

“Oh.” Eddie said dumbly. “No, I don’t think so, Rich. I’ve been feeling around for like 20 minutes trying to—”

“Eds are you—?”

“Yeah, I’m fingering myself. It’s— it’s not enough. It never is. What the fuck are my fingers so short for?” 

Jesus fucking christ, Richie was going to die. He couldn’t even make the joke that _all_ of Eddie was short because he was going to die right there on his couch, in his Cookie Monster pajama pants while his drunk best friend tried to find his own p-spot and cursed god. 

_What a way to go_ , Richie thought, a little hysterically.

“Eds,” his voice cracked on the one syllable so he cleared his throat and tried again. 

“ _Eddie_. No offense, dude, but isn’t this conversation more suited for one of your uhh… hookups? Like, um, wasshisname, uhh—”

Richie feigned ignorance, but he knew that the guy Eddie had been talking to the longest was named—

“Andrew?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah. Andrew.” 

Richie tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice because he wasn’t a fucking hypocrite. He was the one who suggested Eddie make a profile in the first place, right after Eddie had come out. Richie helped him take the pictures and come up with a witty bio and everything. He played his role of supportive best friend to a T, even though a tiny part of him felt like he was giving Eddie away—he squashed it down quick because that was ridiculous. Richie didn’t own Eddie, for fucks sake.

No. Maybe it felt a little bit like giving a piece of himself away.

“I don’ wan’ Andrew to help me. Fuck Andrew.”

“No, Eds, _you_ fuck Andrew. That’s kind of the point of the app.”

Eddie huffed. Richie was sure that if he could see Eddie’s face, he’d be pouting. “I didn’t, you know.”

“Didn’t…?” Richie prompted when it became clear that Eddie wasn’t going to say anything else.

“Fuck him.” Eddie clarified. “I mean I didn’t. Fuck him. Andrew, I mean.” He stammered over himself and Richie couldn’t help but smile, delighted. Eddie really was just too cute sometimes.

“Oh,” Richie said, relieved, then “ _Oh_.” he said, sympathetically. “Sorry, Eds. I thought things were going good?”

“It’s whatever.” Eddie dismissed. “He was a dick. Never even made it past second base. And first I thought to myself, ‘This is fine. It’s fine that I’m most likely gonna die half a virgin, because at least I know who I am. But now it’s just— Can’t you help me, Rich? Please, I’m so—I’m so damn frustrated all the time, and I know you’ve got more experience than me and you’d make it so good for me, and, and…”

“And, what?” Richie pressed.

“I think… I think you’d like it.” Eddie whispered.

“Yeah?” He asked, clipped. “What makes you say that?” Like it wasn’t obvious. Like Richie’s heart didn’t outgrow his chest and make itself a new home right there on his sleeve, big and bright, for everybody to see.

“I see the way that you look at me sometimes.” Eddie didn’t pick up on Richie’s stunned silence because he continued, “I look at you like that, too, sometimes. When you’re not paying attention.”

Realistically, Richie had no business being surprised that Eddie had seen right through him, but he still felt it like a slap to the face, and had to keep himself from outwardly flinching.

“Eds, you can’t.” Richie said, wrecked. “You’re _drunk_ . You can’t just say shit like that if you don’t mean — Look, I’ll help you, okay? I swear. I’ll make it so good, just. Don’t do _that_. Please.”

Eddie was quiet for so long Richie started to wonder if he had fallen asleep. When he spoke, his voice was hesitant, but clearer than it had sounded since they started talking.

“Don’t do _what_ , Rich?”

“ _Lie_ to me. I’d do anything for you, you know that don’t you?”

“I know.” Eddie whispered back.

“Look,” Richie took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maybe you should go to sleep. You’ve gotta be tired, man, plus you’re gonna be miserable at work if you don’t get a couple of hours in.”

Eddie started to protest but Richie spoke over him. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” he said.

Eddie made a plaintive sound but didn’t argue. “Okay. Goodnight, Rich. I—”

“Tomorrow.” Richie said. “Goodnight, Eds.” He hung up.

Richie stared at his phone screen, then back at his laptop, then he turned his gaze heavenward.

“What the fuck?” he asked no one in particular, and wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get a response.

* * *

Richie was brave. 

He stared down death in the form of an evil murderous space clown (twice), and won ( _twice_ ), he clawed his way out of whatever bullshit closet he’d been forced into as a kid. He _killed_ his childhood bully, for fucks sake. 

Richie could pick up his phone and call his best friend like he said he would.

It’s just that his stomach lurched, and his hands shook, and his brow sweat every time he tried— and Richie would _really_ hate to see what it would do to his heart.

Days went by and Richie still hadn’t called Eddie. To be fair, Eddie hadn’t reached out to him either— and it left Richie wondering if Eddie even remembered their conversation. He hadn’t sounded _that_ drunk, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t, or that he didn’t get to that point after they’d hung up.

Richie found himself thinking that maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. It would definitely save them both a lot of embarrassment, and in Richie’s case, tears. But part of him—that selfish, possessive side that he worked so hard to restrain—wanted Eddie to remember, because he wanted to be the first person to really take Eddie apart, to make him feel the way he deserved to feel.

He was busy thinking it over when his phone buzzed in his pocket with a new message from Eddie.

 **Can I come over?** the message read. Richie frowned, typing out a quick response.

**of course dude u dont need to ask.**

_Okay good_ , Richie thought. This was good. He really didn’t want to put it off any longer than he already had. He needed to talk to Eddie, yes, but first he needed to think about what he was going to say, and how he was going to say it. Should he order them dinner or was he supposed to—

The knock on his front door made him yelp, even though Richie would never admit to it.

He opened the door and there was Eddie, looking a little wild-eyed and frayed around the edges, whiteknuckling his cell phone.

“Did you fucking take a jet here or—?”

“I drove.” Eddie interrupted. “Can I come in? Please?”

“Yeah, of course, Eds.” Richie stepped aside to let Eddie through the doorway he wasn’t even aware he’d been blocking. “Were you waiting outside or something, or did that lightning storm that passed through last week strike the lab you work in?”

“I don’t work in a lab.” Eddie said redundantly, but he was smiling and so Richie let himself smile too. “Yeah, I was waiting.”

Richie grabbed two water bottles from the kitchen, raising one in question, then tossing it at Eddie when he nodded. 

“What if I wasn’t home?” Richie asked, mostly just to be annoying. Eddie tilted his head to the side, like he was actually contemplating.

“Where else would you be?” He quipped, and Richie mimed a knife being stabbed repeatedly into his heart.

“Ouch-Town, Eds. Population: me. I hope you’ve got a first-aid kit in that fanny pack.” He nodded his head towards the apparatus planted firmly at Eddie’s hip.

Eddie scoffed. “It’s not a fanny pack, it’s a belt bag.”

Belt bag. He was so fucking pretentious, _belt bag_ . “It’s _gay,_ is what it is.” 

“That’s homophobic.” Eddie said, and a small, pleased smile appeared on his face when Richie laughed in response.

“What are you carryin’ around in there anyway?” He asked, reaching for the zipper and stopping short when Eddie jerked back out of his reach. “Eds?”

“Nothing,” Eddie said, too loud. “I mean, nothing. I just didn’t know if you had stuff.”

“I have _stuff_ , Eddie.” Richie gestured widely to the living room they were standing in, which was filled with stuff. A couch, a TV, two tables, a couple of plants, even. He had stuff.

“No, I meant, like, _sex stuff._ ” He whispered the last part as if they weren’t the only two people in the room and also adults.

“Oh,” he faltered. “Eddie, I—What do you think is happening here?”

“You’re going to fuck me,” It sounded like a question. “Right? I mean, you want to fuck me, don’t you?” Eddie’s voice was unsure, but he stared at Richie with wide, determined eyes.

God, Richie wanted that. _Of course_ he did. He wanted everything with Eddie, but he didn’t want to overwhelm him or scare him away so Richie just nodded. 

“I… yes, but. We should talk first.”

“We…talked on the phone?” Eddie looked genuinely confused.

“No, _you_ talked on the phone, Eddie. _And_ fingered yourself while _I_ had a stroke.”

“A stroke, like…?” Eddie made a lewd gesture with his hand. Richie gawked at him.

“ _No._ A stroke like a cerebrovascular accident, Eds!”

“Oh.” he frowned. “That bad?”

Richie wanted to scream. He put his face in his hands. “It was the opposite of bad.” he said, muffled.

“Oh. Good?” Eddie asked, and it was such a stupid question, but he sounded so earnest that something in Richie broke.

“I’m in love with you.” He said before he could stop himself. The words were out there now, floating between him and Eddie. Richie couldn’t run from them anymore, couldn’t hide now that Eddie knew. “Fuck, I’m so in love with you.”

“Oh—I… Rich, I’m—”

“It’s fine.” Richie cut in, not wanting to hear what Eddie had to say. He probably _deserved_ to hear it, but he didn’t think he could handle the rejection at that moment.

“Richie—”

“I just wanted you to know. You don’t have to worry about me catching feelings or anything because I already caught them. Ha ha.” He said, like actually _said_.

Eddie just stared at Richie. Something about that unwavering gaze made Richie want to flinch, but Eddie didn’t look angry, or disgusted like Richie thought he would— no, he just looked sad. 

Devastatingly, unbearably _sad_.

“How long?” Eddie asked him calmly.

A little too calmly in Richie’s opinion. Like the calm right before the storm; the feeling of peace right before the ensuing chaos.

Still, it hadn’t been what he’d been expecting to hear from Eddie. He hesitated.

“ _How long_ ,” Eddie repeated. “Have you been. In love with me?”

Richie couldn’t just _pinpoint_ an exact moment when it happened. It was just, like, one of Richie Tozier’s Undeniable Truths.

  1. Laughter was healing.
  2. Healing took time.
  3. Clowns were inherently evil.
  4. Richie T loved Eddie K



It wasn’t a matter of when, or how long, it just _was_.

“The whole time.” Richie shrugged, going for unfazed and missing by a couple hundred miles.

“The whole time.” Eddie repeated. “Like… since after the hospital?” 

Richie’s eyes went to where he knew the scar was sitting under Eddie’s shirt. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch. Richie shook his head. 

“Before.” he managed.

“Before, _what?_ Since Mike called us back?”

“Eddie…” Richie started.

“Since we were _kids_?” He shouted.

“Why are you _yelling_?” Richie yelled back.

“I’m not _yelling_.” Eddie said, very loudly. He looked genuinely torn up. “Richie, I—I didn’t know.”

“I know that.” Richie said, feeling the need to reassure Eddie. “I know, Eds. You didn’t know because I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t… I’m just a really good liar, I guess.”

And Eddie just—crumpled at that. Like a house of cards caving in, like all of his strings had been cut. 

“No.” He said. “You’re a _terrible_ liar.”

Richie opened his mouth to point out that he lied to all of his friends _and_ himself about his sexuality for years, but Eddie cut him off before he could. “Lying by omission doesn’t count.” Richie shut his mouth.

“This whole time,” Eddie started pacing which was usually fun to watch, but this time it was setting Richie on edge. “You felt the same this _whole time_ and I never knew.”

“ _Eddie,_ I told you, it’s because I didn’t want y— _”_ Wait. “Wait, what?” 

Richie’s mind was going a mile a minute and Eddie stopped running in circles around his living room long enough to fix Richie with a Look.

“I thought it was obvious.” Eddie said. His voice was so small.

“Eddie. Eds, no, why it—”

“I thought you knew and just didn’t feel the same.”

Richie was reeling. “How could I know?”

Eddie huffed. “I used to let you sleep in my bed. In your _outside_ clothes.” he said.

“Yeah, but—”

“I almost died for you. I _would have_ died for you.”

Richie’s heart shattered. “Eddie, come on, you would’ve done that for any—”

“I laugh at all your stupid jokes.”

“That’s because I’m hilarious.” Richie managed, choked.

“Yeah,” Eddie laughed. It was tearful. “You really fucking are.”

And it was like someone had pulled the rug from underneath Richie the way he buckled with the realization. He always thought to love and be loved back was something that only happened to other people, like it wasn’t meant for him. Something he could see, and envy, but never hold in his own hands. 

_Just like in that Smash Mouth song_ , Richie thought.

So there was Richie, standing in his living room thinking about _Shrek_ while Eddie’s stare grew more and more bewildered.

“Holy shit.” Richie breathed once he’d got his wits back to him. “You love me.”

“Uh, yeah. Yes. I do.”

“You _love_ me.” He repeated, laughing in disbelief. He fought the urge to whoop and pump his fist in the air victoriously, like a wannabe frat-boy.

“I do.” Eddie said and he was smiling so wide that Richie had to kiss him, or else he might combust.

“Is this okay?” He asked, lips inches from Eddie’s, and Eddie nodded.

“ _Please_.”

It was far from his first kiss, but it was the first time Richie had ever kissed anyone like _that_ . Deep, and slow, and burning. 

Eddie kissed back with a matching intensity, making soft sounds against Richie’s mouth the whole time, running his fingers through Richie’s hair.

Richie gasped and pulled away, leaning down to breathe against Eddie’s shoulder. He mouthed at the skin there.

“I want you so bad.” He whined.

“Want you.” Eddie agreed. He pulled Richie back in, desperately plastering himself against Richie’s body, trying to get impossibly closer. “Richie, c’mon, please.” He ground his hips into Richie, letting him feel how affected Eddie was. “ _Please_.”

“Shit, yeah, okay.” He pulled away again, dragging Eddie by the strap of his fanny pack towards Richie’s bedroom while Eddie laughed and swatted at him the whole time.

* * *

“What’s the matter Eds, cat got your tongue?” Richie asked, taking in Eddie’s silence as they entered the bedroom. Eddie scoffed and shoved at him playfully.

“More like dick’s got my tongue.” He muttered. Eddie head snapped up then, eyes wide as his own words caught up to him. “Shut the fuck up, Richie, don’t say shit. Just shut up.”

Richie mimed zipping his mouth shut. He even added the locking motion and throwing away the key for razzle dazzle.

Eddie rolled his eyes and started getting undressed, actually taking the time to fold his clothes and place them neatly on the mostly decorative arm chair in the corner of the room.

When he was down to just his Calvin Klein’s, he turned to face Richie, almost nervously.

“How should I, um. How do you want me?” Eddie asked.

Richie didn’t say, “ _As you are,_ ” because he was gay but he wasn’t _that_ gay. Plus Eddie would probably get dressed and walk out if he did. He thought it, though. What Richie said was, “On your back. And spread ‘em.”

“O-okay.” Eddie climbed to the middle of the bed and leaned back, fussing with the pillows at the headboard.

Richie allowed his eyes to wander, sweeping over Eddie’s frame, lingering on his legs. God, they were so toned—the defined muscle of his quads standing out even in his relaxed position. 

Richie noticed that Eddie was trembling faintly, but he couldn’t be sure if it was nerves or anticipation that was making him react that way. Probably some combination of the two.

“Relax, Eds, it’s just me.” Richie soothed. He rubbed a hand down Eddie’s side in a way that he hoped was comforting.

Eddie exhaled shakily and nodded. “I trust you.”

Richie smiled back at him. He lifted one of Eddie’s legs, bending it at the knee so he could trail a line of bruising kisses down the pale expanse of Eddie’s thigh.

Eddie let out a rough breath. “That feels nice.”

“Yeah.” Richie agreed. He tugged at Eddie’s boxers. Then, “Can I eat you out?”

The sound Eddie made could only be described as a whimper. Like even the thought of it was too much for him to handle. “Rich, I’ve never— uh. Do you like. To do… that?”

“Mmm.” Richie hummed his agreement against his skin, which made Eddie tremble harder. “I love it.”

“Okay.” Eddie breathed. He sounded wrecked already and Richie tried to hide his grin. Without warning he gripped Eddie’s thighs and hauled him to the edge of the bed, delighting in the way it made Eddie shriek and kick out at him.

“You fucking _dick_ ,” Eddie cursed, but Richie just laughed, catching the foot Eddie aimed at his head, pressing a soft kiss to his ankle. He yanked the boxers the rest of the way off, tossing them over his carelessly somewhere over his shoulder.

“That’s what they call me. You ready?” He asked, situating himself half off the bed so that he was kneeling on the floor, Eddie’s legs swung haphazardly over his arms.

“Uh huh.”

That was what Richie had been waiting for because with one final wink, he got to work, licking a hot, broad stripe over Eddie’s asshole.

Eddie jerked violently in his grasp and Richie tightened his arms around Eddie’s thighs, keeping him still.

“Richie, that’s, that—” he didn’t say anything else but that was okay because Richie was more than focused on the task at hand, which was to take Eddie apart.

He tightened his grip on Eddie and doubled down, alternating between teasing little strokes of his tongue and thrusting into Eddie as deep as he could go, then he took one hand off of Eddie’s thigh, using it to spread him open and fuck his tongue in even deeper.

Eddie was thrashing and moaning above him, letting out hurt noises on nearly every out breath. “Oh god, oh my god, Richie.” he whined again and again.

Richie pulled back and hummed appreciatively. “You sound so good, Eds. You ready for more?”

“Please Rich, please I need you—” and it was _so_ close to what Richie needed to hear: that Eddie needed him just as much as he did Eddie. 

He swallowed thickly.

“You don’t have to beg, I’ve got you.” Richie said, rough. He leaned over the bed to grab the bottle of lube from his night-stand and coated his fingers generously.

“Gonna put one in you, okay?” Richie teased his finger around Eddie’s rim, waiting until Eddie nodded before he pressed in to the first knuckle.

“How’s that?” He checked in.

Eddie grunted. “Different than mine. I can take more.”

“Mmm, I bet.” Richie hummed, sliding his finger the rest of the way in, making sure to keep his strokes perfunctory, stretching, not searching.

Eddie shifted restlessly, trying to take more, deeper, but Richie stilled him.

“Slow down, gym shoe.” Richie said, and the look Eddie gave him portrayed “ _nothing about that is sexy_ ” in a way that words never could.

“Just let me, alright? You trust me?” He asked.

Eddie nodded, gripping the sheets at his sides. “I trust you.” he repeated. 

Richie smiled and rewarded Eddie by thrusting his finger in deeper, angling more pointed than before, putting his mouth back to good use. 

He kept that up for a while; tongue out, finger in, finger out, tongue in, searching, curling up up up until—

“ _Shit!_ Oh, fuck, is that—” Eddie shrieked.

“ _Gotcha._ ” Richie thought triumphantly. He honed in on that spot, alternating between pressing and rubbing, keeping Eddie on edge.

He added another finger, giving Eddie a minute to adjust to the stretch. 

“So tight around me, Eds, can’t wait to get my dick in there.” Richie mused. He pressed a bit harder and was rewarded with a deep groan from Eddie.

Richie watched smugly as Eddie slowly fell apart. The way the sweat was forming on his skin; the way his breaths stuttered and his chest heaved. The way his eyes would briefly open only to roll back into his head and flutter closed again.

Eddie writhed on the bed, twisting his upper body to the side so that he could moan and sob his pleasure into the pillow he was grasping, slamming his open palm into the mattress.

He looked _caught—_ stuck somewhere in between _a lot_ and _too much_ , _good_ and _too good_ — and Richie almost moaned at the sight of him.

“I thought you _wanted_ to get fucked good, Eds. That’s what you said, right? Am I not fucking you good?” Richie teased.

It took Eddie a minute to respond, like he wasn’t even aware he was being talked to.

“N-no, it’s good. It feels so good, Rich.”

“Then stop _running_ from it.” Richie laughed, not unkindly.

“Shut the fuck— _oh_ , god, oh god, _Richie_ , I fucking _can’t_ —” Eddie started to gasp and pull desperately at his own sweaty hair, like he needed the distraction.

“What can’t you do, Eddie?”

“Fuck _off_ , I can’t _take_ it!” Eddie said, panicked. “I’m gonna—” His thighs were shaking so violently around Richie, and Richie grinned. He had a pretty good idea about what Eddie was _gonna_ do.

“Close, babe?” he asked obnoxiously, but Eddie just nodded frantically, hand fisted so tight in his hair Richie was afraid he’d rip it out.

Richie redoubled his efforts, hyper-focused on hitting Eddie’s prostate with every upward drag of his fingers. He was succeeding too, if the choked off gasps coming from Eddie were any indication.

“ _Rich_ —” he sounded close to tears, and when Richie looked up at him, his eyes were wide, shocked, like he couldn’t believe how Richie was making him feel. “I’m—”

“I know, baby.” Richie hushed. “I can feel you.” He pressed harder against Eddie’s swollen prostate for emphasis, causing Eddie to cry out. “You’ve been so patient, Eds, go ahead.”

Eddie barely had time to reach down and stroke himself before he was coming, _hard_ , and it was a sight Richie wanted burned into his memory. 

The intensity looked almost painful, is the thing.

Eddie jerked once, full bodied, “Oh.” he gasped. His back arched slowly as he curled in on himself, hands trembling convulsively at his sides, muscles locking tight. “ _Oh_!” he cried, tensing further still. Then, Eddie sobbed like it was torn out of him, thrashing wildly on the bed while Richie fingered him into oblivion, talking to Eddie the whole time about how tight he was getting, how good he looked.

Eddie came _a lot_ . Like a ridiculous amount. Like maybe it had been a while for him, and Richie couldn’t help but feel proud. _He_ made Eddie shoot like that.

Eddie was flushed red from his face down to his chest, and he twitched minutely at every drag of Richie’s fingers as he started to come down.

“ _Jesus._ ” Eddie stuttered out after a minute. He had his arm flung over his eyes and was panting so hard Richie worried it might trigger an asthma attack.

He almost took pity on Eddie. Almost.

“You’re not done yet.” Richie said. He twisted his fingers relentlessly, massaging over that spot inside of Eddie, milking him. “I can tell.”

Eddie started sobbing brokenly then, holding onto Richie for dear life, and Richie leaned forward to kiss him, swallowing all of Eddie’s desperate sounds. The new angle was killer on his wrist but he didn’t dare stop, especially not when Eddie pulled away to cry out again.

“ _Richie_ , what, I—” He didn’t finish his sentence, cutting himself off to stare in awe at Richie, then at himself as even more come dribbled onto his heaving belly.

Richie’s own cock throbbed in sympathy, and he hummed his appreciation. He slowed his thrusts until they were more experimental and shallow than probing.

“Y _ou -_ ” was all Eddie said, apparently done with words. He flopped heavily down onto the mattress, still shuddering all over.

“Nice.” Richie murmured, taking in Eddie’s wrung out form. He gently removed his fingers, hushing him when Eddie whimpered pitifully, and lowered Eddie’s legs back down to the bed, massaging the muscles so they wouldn’t cramp.

“God damn, Eds.”

Eddie cracked one eye open to give Richie a look.

“Fucking tell me about it.” He panted out. His voice sounded raw, like he had screamed himself hoarse, and Richie wanted to bottle it up.

It was getting harder (heh) for Richie to ignore how turned on he was now. He was hard and leaking in his boxers - had been for some time, and as soon as he got a hand around himself he knew it wasn’t going to take much. He’d been so focused on getting Eddie off that Richie hadn’t even realized how worked up he’d gotten.

"Fuck." Richie whimpered as he thrusted into the warm grip of his hand, chasing his own release.

“Shh, shh.” Eddie soothed. He opened his arms but didn’t seem inclined to do much else. “Come here and kiss me.”

And Richie, who would’ve done anything Eddie had asked of him at that moment, happily obliged.

They were both breathing too hard for it to have been much of a kiss, but Richie was content with just sharing breath, being close to Eddie.

“You’re so fucking good Rich, you made me feel so good.” Eddie panted against his lips, and he had to know. He _had_ to know what his words were doing to Richie.

“Eddie—” Richie moaned. His hand worked faster, and he was _right_ there, so close. " _Eds, I'm_ —”

“So good to me. You’ve always been so good to me.” Richie watched, stunned, as Eddie’s hand mopped through the mess that was cooling on his own stomach before he knocked Richie’s hand out of the way, taking over for him. He worked Richie over with short, firm strokes that made Richie’s hips twitch desperately as he gasped.

“Can’t you be good and come for me?”

Richie couldn’t even be embarrassed about the noises he was making, because half a minute later, he was shouting and going stiff, coming harder than he had in ages, just like Eddie had asked.

* * *

“You gonna crash here tonight?” Richie asked a little later, eyeing Eddie who was curled up on his side. His breathing was slow and deep.

“Mmmno just gonna nap...fifteen minutes.” Eddie said, barely over a whisper. He sounded like he was already losing his battle with sleep.

_Cute._

“Sure, Eds.” Richie grinned, and made his way to the master bathroom to finish cleaning up. He walked by the mirror and didn’t even flinch when he took in his reflection. 

He looked...not _good_ , really, but definitely happy.

He looked happy.

Richie climbed back into bed, still smiling, taking extra care not to disturb Eddie who was resting peacefully next to him. 

What a picture he was. 

Eddie looked younger when he slept, Richie noted. It made something in his chest ache, to think about how much he had missed.

He planted a soft kiss to Eddie’s forehead, and one more to his nose, before turning over and getting comfortable as carefully as he could.

Richie nearly jumped out of his skin when Eddie wrapped himself around Richie, chest to back and mumbled a sleepy, “Thank you,” against Richie’s nape.

“Shit!” Richie hissed. “I thought you were—why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Was waiting for you.”

“That’s fucking cute, Eds.” Richie sighed. “So what are you thanking me for?”

“For taking care of me.” Eddie said, like it should've been obvious. Like Richie didn’t consider himself lucky to be able to do so. Like it wasn’t an _honor_. Stupid.

“Anytime, Eds.” Richie said.

He meant it with his whole heart.

* * *

Eddie woke up in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar bed, feeling better rested than he had in months— years, maybe. Only, _no_ , it wasn’t an unfamiliar room—it was Richie’s, and everything about Richie was familiar to him.

Before last night, he hadn’t been in Richie’s bed since they were kids, staying up too late, sharing pillows and comics, letting the glow from the television wash them in cool blue light.

“ _That’s gonna be me one day._ ” Richie said. He was pointing at one of the comedians hosting Saturday Night Live.

“ _Oh yeah? You really think they’d let your trashmouth on live TV?_ ” Eddie ribbed, but he could see it. Richie was the funniest person he knew. There was no one alive who could make Eddie laugh until he cried, and—on one unfortunate occasion— until milk came out of his nose and he peed a little. That was just part of the reason he loved Richie so much. 

Richie was _good_ for him, Eddie thought, good for his soul.

He looked at Richie now, who was still asleep with his head pillowed on Eddie’s shoulder, an arm stretched across his waist.

Eddie allowed himself a minute— _just one_ —to stare at Richie’s face. The slope of his nose, the strong definition of his jawline, the way his eyebrows were furrowed, even as he dreamed.

 _That’s my best friend_ , Eddie thought. _That’s my best friend, all grown up_.

He didn’t let himself get too wistful, mostly because he had to pee, like, urgently.

He tried not to wake Richie in the process, but with the way they were tangled up in each other, it was impossible.

“Nooo,” Richie burrowed his face into Eddie’s shoulder—almost in his armpit— like it was physically possible for him to get any closer. “Don’t go.”

Eddie laughed. “I’m just going to use the bathroom.”

“Just go in the bed, it's fine. I’ll throw the sheets away later.”

“You’re disgusting.” Eddie detangled himself and padded his bare naked ass out of the room. He stopped to grab a towel from Richie’s closet before heading towards the full bathroom down the hall rather than the master since he didn’t want to disturb Richie’s sleep.

Eddie was in the middle of washing his hair with Richie’s stupidly expensive—yet sensible—tea tree shampoo when he heard a gentle knock, followed by the sound of the bathroom door creaking open.

“Mind if I join you?” came Richie’s voice, only slightly drowned out by the shower water pouring over him.

Eddie shrugged, forgetting for a second that Richie couldn’t see him from behind the curtain.

“It’s _your_ shower.” Eddie called, and seconds later he was met with a cool breeze and the sight of sleepy, naked Richie, which Eddie wasn’t even aware was something that he’d been missing his whole life.

“Hey.” Richie said, stepping in behind him. He took over, washing the shampoo out of Eddie’s hair, massaging his scalp.

“Hi,” Eddie sighed, leaning back into the touch, letting himself be looked after. “That feels nice.”

“Yeah?” Richie hummed and continued to knead his fingers through Eddie’s hair. “Not gonna run out on me, then?”

His tone was playful but Eddie could still hear the genuine worry underneath the teasing. He frowned.

“Why would I run out on you?” Eddie asked. He felt Richie’s shrug.

“Why wouldn’t you?” He said back with forced indifference.

Eddie wanted to shake him and scream “because I love you, and I've been waiting for you my whole life, and you deserve consistency and stability in your life,” at the top of his lungs, but it was only eight AM and he hadn’t even had his morning coffee yet, so that might be “extra” as Richie liked to say. Instead he said,

“How about this. I won’t run anywhere you can’t follow me, okay?”

“Eddie,” Richie whined. “You know I haven’t ran since high school.”

Eddie grinned. “I know. I guess that means I’m not going anywhere, then.”

* * *

Some time later, Eddie was sitting on a stool at Richie’s kitchen island, wearing one of Richie’s t-shirts and sweats that pooled around his ankles, sipping on a coffee that Richie brewed for him, and checking his email while Richie scrambled eggs at the stove and burnt toast in the toaster.

It was amazing. 

It felt right, like for the first time in his life Eddie wasn’t just happy he was… 

He _was_. 

And it only took him forty years and one $12 bottle of wine from a local beverage depot to get there.

He watched, a little absently, as Richie worked — the way he swayed and shook his ass while he cooked, the way he smiled over his shoulder at Eddie, mouth forming shapes like he was talking, how his smile turned confused as he continued to stare at Eddie, before it left his face completely.

“Eddie…?” Richie hedged uncertainty, fidgeting with the spatula in his hands.

“Huh?” He asked dumbly, snapping back to the present.

Richie laughed. “You went catatonic on me for a second, bud. I said, ‘what’s going through that spaghetti head of yours, Eds?’”

He walked over and ruffled Eddie’s still-drying hair, elating in the way it made Eddie shriek and swat at Richie’s hand.

But Eddie just shook his head in response to the question, smiling up at him. 

“I don’t think I could put it into words.”

Richie’s hand reached out to stroke his cheek, right over his scar. “You could try.” He said hopefully.

Eddie sighed and leaned into the touch. “Just thinking about you, I guess.” 

“ _Me_ ?” Richie looked shocked, like that was the last thing he expected Eddie to say. Like he wasn’t _always_ on Eddie’s mind.

“Yeah. Just. How much I love you. How lucky I am. Honestly, it’s a little overwhelming,” Eddie smirked. “It feels like I’m gonna burst.”

It goes to show how affected Richie is that he didn’t even go for the low hanging fruit that Eddie left dangling right in front of his face. 

“I love you, too, Eds—” 

Eddie smiled. “I know.”

“—Like _so_ much.” He continued. 

“I _know_.” Eddie repeated firmer.

“You just make me so happy, it’s like—”

“Do I give you a heart-on?” Eddie asked, grinning dopily at Richie who pulled away to stare at Eddie, mouth hanging open like a fish. Or like one of those trash cans that you step on to open.

“A ‘ _heart-on_ ’? Holy shit, Eds, you are the funniest motherfucker on the planet, I can’t even believe this. I’m quitting my job.” Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and kissed his hair, dissolving into a fit of giggles. “ _Heart-on_ ” He repeated, chuckling to himself.

And Eddie wanted to bottle the sound, hold it close to his heart with both hands whenever he got sad, because at the end of it all, he still had this. Despite everything that he’d been through, he _still had this_. He loved Richie, and Richie loved him back, and he could still make Richie laugh, and that was enough. 

That was everything.

**Author's Note:**

> *the smoke detector starts going off because richie burned the eggs too*  
> i might (will) make this into a series, part two is currently in the works!  
> i made a (still anonymous) [tumblr](https://richeds.tumblr.com/) in case you all had any requests for anything specific you wanted to see in the future!  
> thank you for reading.  
> spare comments/kudos? 🤲


End file.
